Hidden
by muhnemma
Summary: With limitless numbers of Sith hounding him and ever more Jedi creeping out of the woodwork, Atton is beginning to think that he would have been better off in jail. KOTOR 2 novelization with an LSF Exile.
1. Chapter 1

It was a rare moment of stillness, the calm before the storm of Kreia's furious accusations and Sarai's regret. Atton knew that he would have to deal with these things later, knew that he would probably try to blur the memory of tonight with juma, but for the moment he was content to enjoy the feel of Sarai's body stretched out against his and the silence that enveloped them. Hoping to whatever force watched over scoundrels like him that she wouldn't wake up, he slipped an arm around her waist to caress her bare stomach. The texture of Sarai's skin was endlessly fascinating. There were soft, pristine stretches that dancers in the higher class of cantinas would have envied. Yet his fingers also brushed over toughened ridges, testaments of the battles she had fought, battles she had tried so hard to forget until less than a month ago.

So caught up in tracing the web of scars, it took Atton a while to notice that her skin didn't emanate its usual heat. Sliding his hand up to her chest, he realised that it didn't rise and fall in the steady rhythm of sleep. He panicked and gently rolled her onto her back. The first thing he noticed was her eyes; they stared up at him without seeing, an accusation locked in their frozen depths. The second thing was the livid ring of marks around her neck. He knew with utter certainty that if he laid his fingers against those marks they would fit perfectly. Bile rose in his throat, choking off the scream that threatened to erupt.

Atton woke abruptly, sliding off his chair and landing on the floor with a bump. There was no sign of Sarai, dead or alive, or even a bed. Only a cold cup of caffa and a scattered deck of pazaak cards. "Frack," he cursed, running a shaky hand through his hair. It took him only a minute to compose himself, carefully rebuilding those walls of strong emotion that had crumbled momentarily upon waking. While he erected them he picked up the cards, wiping off every piece of dust and dirt meticulously and checking them for creases. By the time he had collected and pocketed the pack, it was as safe as it could ever be for him to think freely.

Dreams of Sarai, particularly dreams where she was naked and in his bed, were common. They could even be useful; he was sure they would keep Sarai's new golden boy padawan from trying to dig into his mind. But the nightmare he had just woken from was a new experience. Everything had seemed so real. He had felt Sarai's flame hair tickling his face, breathed in her unique scent. It had been more like a vision than a dream. Seeing as he had never had a vision in his life, he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that it had been planted in his mind when he was at his most vulnerable. Who would have reason to do that, and who would have the power to penetrate his defences?

Despite his show of nobility, Atton was willing to wager a small fortune that Mical wouldn't mind getting rid of the competition for Sarai's affections. He watched her constantly: when she ate, when she fought, when she meditated. Force, Atton wouldn't put it past Mical to watch her while she slept. But there was the small matter of power. The day a trainee Jedi like Mical could get past Atton's defences was the day he hung up his blasters and took up farming for a living. Visas and Sarai might have the power but they certainly didn't have motive. That only left one person: Kreia. Sneaking into his head was the old hag's style, and she had more reason than anyone else on the ship. The dream was a warning. Protect Sarai but don't get too close; risk his life but never forget his place.

"Atton?"

The voice startled him, and it irritated him that someone had managed to creep up on him unnoticed. Turning around, he found Mical standing in the doorway of the cockpit. Despite the fact that the sky only had a tinge of light, he had already donned one of his robes and was carrying two steaming cups of caffa.

"For me?" sneered Atton. "You shouldn't have."

"It's for Sarai," replied Mical calmly. Atton smirked. Of course it was for Sarai. He had been right; Mical really did watch her while she slept. "I have searched the entire ship and cannot find her. Have you seen her?"

Atton shrugged. "You know what Jedi are like. She's probably meditating by a stream somewhere."

"Her bed hasn't been slept in. I fear she did not return from her meeting with Master Vrook last night."

This caught Atton's attention. Sarai's meeting with the cantankerous old Jedi had been hours ago. The man seemed to like the sound of his own voice, but Atton was fairly certain that the meeting couldn't still be going on. "Sarai's a big girl," he said confidently, concealing his own concern. "She can take care of herself. But I need to see if there's anywhere I can stock up on juma before we leave, so I'll keep an eye out for her."

"Shall I accompany you?"

"I've told you already; I _don't _need your help," said Atton, pushing passed Mical and hurrying to the cargo ramp before Mical could insist on joining him. The air outside was cool and Atton wasn't sure whether it was this or the tense atmosphere surrounding Khoonda that caused goose bumps to rise on his arms. With its rolling green hills and trickling streams, Dantooine looked like it should be a peaceful place but it felt more like the refugee sector of Nar Shaddaa. The people lived precarious lives on the edge of existence while the scum of the galaxy tried to take what little they had. Yesterday that tension had exploded into a battle between the militia of Khoonda and the mercenaries. Sarai had been in the thick of it, fighting back the mercenaries and healing the wounded once the battle had been won.

Atton bypassed Khoonda altogether. There was little chance of Sarai being there as she had spent most of the visit shunning the place, and he had no hope of finding a merchant who stocked juma. The only way he was going to get his hands on any before reaching Nar Shaddaa was by stumbling upon a mercenary's hidden stash. He started in the direction of the enclave with some vague hope of finding Sarai there, but Khoonda had only just disappeared from sight when he heard voices. One was male, broken by sobs, and the other was undeniably Sarai's.

Rounding the corner, he saw them sitting on the damp grass. The man's face was haggard and tear stained, the hair at his temples grey. Sarai rested a hand on his shoulder as it heaved and shook. Atton began to back away, not wanting to witness such an intimate moment, but a flash of colour on Sarai's arm caught his eye. There was a jagged rip in her sleeve through which he glimpsed a bleeding cut, and beside the crying man a battered blade stained crimson. Atton had drawn his blaster and started towards them before he realised what he was doing. Hearing his approach, Sarai looked up sharply and shook her head.

_What are you doing? _he asked silently. She formed close connections easily with her companions, and as a consequence could sense their surface emotions almost effortlessly. It was a source of pride and worry for Atton that, with the exception of Kreia, _he _had the strongest bond with Sarai. It should have been Bao-Dur who still obeyed her as he had when she was a General, or Mical as her padawan, or even Visas with her force sensitivity, but instead it was him. However, he knew she wouldn't need the bond to read his emotions right now. The incredulous expression on his face said everything. In response to his silent question she shook her head again and held up a slender finger, ordering him to wait.

Rising to her feet, she extended a hand to the man, who quickly wiped his eyes on his sleeve and then took it. She pressed something into his hand, ignoring his vehement protests and hurrying over to Atton before he could return whatever she had given him. "What was _that _about?" asked Atton, reluctantly holstering his blaster when the stranger showed no sign of following them.

Sarai shrugged. "Nothing."

"Nothing? You just handed over a pile of credits to the man with your blood on his blade, and that's _nothing? _Not that-"

"You care," she snapped. "I know you don't care, Atton, you've made that clear. Why you're sticking around is a mystery to me."

Atton stared at her in silence for a moment, stunned. Sarai rarely lost her temper, and almost never with her friends. She hadn't said one harsh word to Kreia despite the old scow's hissed admonishments, and the only time he had sparked her temper was during their first meeting with his constant leering. Now her furious gaze burned into him with an intensity that was almost frightening. "I told you on Telos," he began slowly, defensively, "I might be able to help you out of a tight spot one day."

As quickly as it had arrived, the fierce anger left her eyes and her shoulders sagged. She didn't look intimidating anymore; she looked tired. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I'm not angry with you, not really. It's this place." She glanced bitterly at the blaster scorched walls surrounding Khoonda. "The man you saw me talking to lost his daughter in the attack four years ago. He saw the lightsaber clipped to my belt and… Well, you know how they feel about Jedi around here."

"But you saved this sorry little settlement," he said incredulously. "If you hadn't been here yesterday the mercs would have walked right into Khoonda and taken it."

"That doesn't matter. The animosity towards the Jedi is rooted too deeply to be eradicated overnight. In that man's eyes, it's the Jedi's fault that he has no family and he's barely eking out a living on his farm. Is it really a surprise that he attacked me when he saw me?"

Atton sighed in exasperation and prepared to launch into the now familiar argument about the limits of her good nature, but something made him hesitate. Something that Sarai had said struck him as strange. It took him a few seconds to pinpoint exactly what it was. "He's a farmer?" he asked.

She looked at him curiously. "Yes. Why?"

"You can fight off legions of assassin droids and mercenaries and barely break a sweat. How did a _farmer _manage to land a hit on you?"

He had meant it jokingly, and so was surprised when her pale cheeks darkened. There was no chance to question her further as they had reached the loading ramp of the Ebon Hawk and she pressed a finger against her lips. "Be quiet," she ordered. "If Mical notices that I'm bleeding he'll fuss. I'll take care of it myself in the medbay." Happy that she was trying to avoid Mical, Atton obeyed and followed her silently. But he filed her reaction away in his memory for further study.

They moved as silently as possible through the ship, Atton more successfully than Sarai. For someone so short and slight, who moved with unnerving grace in battle, she made an awful lot of noise. When they reached the safety of the medbay Atton firmly shut the door while Sarai hopped up onto a stool, easing her torn outer robe off with a sigh.

"I'll do that," said Atton in his best authoritive voice, plucking the cloth that she had been about to clean the wound with out of her hand. He was surprised when she made no protest and allowed him to clean and bandage the cloth. "So, what kept you so long? The cranky Jedi?"

Sarai chuckled softly. "No. I was only with him for a few minutes. I was hunting for lightsaber crystals, and one in particular." She pulled a gently glowing orange crystal from her pocket and held it up so he could see it. "Solari," she said softly.

"What's so special about it?"

"It gives me something to strive for. Only Jedi dedicated to the light can unleash it's full potential."

Atton snorted. "What's to strive for? Your good nature is sickening."

She was quiet and thoughtful as she rolled down her sleeve and hopped down from the stool. When she reached the door she turned and said, "You wondered how that man managed to land a hit. It was because I was distracted. I was concentrating very hard on not killing him." She sighed and looked away from Atton's shocked face. "When he attacked me, the anger was almost overwhelming. It's been a long time since I had to worry about reigning in my emotions. It's not always easy."


	2. Chapter 2

The journey to Nar Shaddaa was the most painfully long one Atton had ever experienced. Sarai always seemed too busy to spend more than a few minutes talking to him, meaning that he faced long stretches of time with nothing better to do than play pazaak with himself. The first day of travelling she spent locked away with Mical and Visas, helping them to build lightsabers. Kreia was furious that Sarai planned to give a Sith assassin a powerful weapon and, to his surprise and horror, Atton found himself in agreement with her. This did little to deter Sarai and, after six hours and several curses that Atton _never _thought he would hear from a Jedi, Visas emerged with a slender amber lightsaber. If the sight of Visas with a lightsaber irritated him, then watching Mical strut around the ship with his new weapon was enough to plunge him into a black mood for hours at a time.

When she wasn't labouring over the workbench, Sarai spent her time training her new Padawan or being trained herself. Bao-Dur had agreed to give her some much needed lessons in ship and droid maintenance, and would allow her to assist in minor repairs from time to time. At least a small portion of every day was spent in seclusion with Mical, meditating or explaining various powers and combat skills. At first Atton resented that he wasn't party to these lessons. He would lurk outside the closed dormitory door, simmering with jealousy, desperately wishing that he knew what was happening just a few feet away. Finally he was driven to check the security camera. Sarai and Mical were deep in meditation, breathing in harmony. Atton wished that he hadn't witnessed the scene because, although the two weren't touching, there was a terrible intimacy about it that made his stomach twist.

Three hours before they were due to reach Nar Shaddaa, Sarai sauntered into the cockpit. Atton feigned indifference as she took the seat next to him, although his heart was hammering from a strange mixture of excitement at her presence and anger that she had chosen to ignore him for so long. "So," he said casually, "what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be meditating with golden boy?"

Her brow furrowed. "Who are you – Ah, Mical."

"Yeah, him."

"Why do you dislike him so much?"

"I don't dislike him," he lied. "I just don't appreciate having to support a dead weight."

Sarai arched an eyebrow. "Dead weight?"

"You know how much danger we're in. There's a bounty on Jedi that could buy the collector a small planet and a whole legion of Sith assassins on our tail. I just don't think that a _librarian _is going to be able to pull his weight in a fight."

"And _you _know that's not true," she said after an irritated cluck of her tongue. "He can handle a blaster as well as anyone else on this ship and he has extensive medical training. He's helped us out of more than one tight spot since joining us. What's your real problem with him?"

"Ever since he came along you've been acting like the rest of us don't exist." This wasn't entirely true. No matter how busy she had been with Mical's training, she had made time for the other crew members. It was just her pilot that she seemed to have no time for. "Aren't we good enough for you now you have another Jedi to play with?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" she snapped, but otherwise made no argument. She crossed her arms and turned her face away. Atton knew that she had something left to say or she would have left by now, but he didn't push her. Experience had taught him that she wouldn't speak until she was ready, and pressuring her would only make it more likely that she would keep her mouth shut. After a few minutes of awkward silence she said, "I didn't realise that I had been… neglecting everyone. Mical is my Padawan. It is vital that I train him if he is to reach his full potential, and - " She broke off, pinching the bridge of her nose lightly. "And I don't want to mess it up."

"Right," said Atton slowly. He took in the weary expression she wore and noted the way she couldn't quite meet his eye. "Why do I get the feeling you're not telling me everything?"

She grinned wryly. "Because I'm not. I don't know why I bother trying to keep things from you. You're worse than Kreia for sniffing out my secrets."

"Play enough games of pazaak and you develop a talent for recognising a bluff," he said, shrugging. "And I'm not sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult."

"It's a handy talent to have."

Atton snorted. "That's not answering my question, and you still haven't told me the whole truth about why you're locking yourself away with Mical every day." He wasn't sure whether he wanted to know the real reason. He couldn't continue to entertain even a small hope that he might have a chance with Sarai if she secluded herself with Mical for any other reason than training.

Sarai grimaced. "I was hoping you had forgotten about that." At his incredulous expression she said, "I know. I should know better. As for Mical… I owe him my time." She held up her hand to silence him as he began to speak. "I knew him," she continued. "A long time ago. He was brought to Dantooine as a Force sensitive child, and I was one of a number of Jedi who taught the group of children he was in."

"That doesn't mean that you _owe _him anything."

She waved a hand, impatiently dismissing the comment. "The Mandalorian Wars affected the training of new Jedi in ways we – _I _– never stopped to think about. There were no Masters to train Mical and so he chose to serve the Republic instead. But," she turned tortured eyes on Atton, "there was more to it than that. He turned his back on the Jedi because _I _left the Order to fight the Mandalorians. I changed the course of his life, sparked his decision to turn his back on the Force, without ever realising it. Although I can't erase the past ten years, now I have the chance to give Mical the training he was once denied."

Atton couldn't deny that he felt relieved. Sarai was expending time and effort on Mical not out of desire or even friendship, but because she felt a sense of obligation towards him. Nevertheless, there was a small spark of anger that Mical had made her feel so guilty. "It wasn't your fault he left the Jedi," he grumbled. "It was his choice."

"That's what he said. Doesn't make me feel any better though." She sighed and shrugged, as if ridding herself of the subject. "Now, can I say what I came here to tell you?"

He regarded her warily. "Alright."

"Don't look so worried," she said, grinning. "I just want to talk about what's going to happen when we get to Nar Shaddaa."

"What does our fearless leader have planned for us?"

"A night off."

Atton stared at her in black shock, his eyebrows almost disappearing beneath his hairline. "A what?"

Sarai frowned. "I'm not that much of a taskmaster, am I?"

"No. It's just that I thought your idea of a good time was gutting assassins and mercenaries."

"Very funny," she said dryly. "We could all do with some time away from each other; we've been under each other's feet since Dantooine." She looked at him pointedly. "Are you telling me you're turning down the offer of a night at a cantina?"

"No, no," he said quickly. "I was just shocked."

She smiled sweetly. "If I don't see you before, have a good night." With that she left the cockpit, presumably to tell the others the good news. The next three hours went quickly. Atton could hear Sarai moving around the ship, talking to their crewmates and completing small maintenance tasks. She slipped into the cockpit a couple of times, fidgeting nervously and drumming her fingers on the back of Atton's chair. Eventually she disappeared into the quarters she shared with Visas. An hour after that, Atton landed the Ebon Hawk in the refugee sector and made his way to the communal area of the ship.

Although Sarai had given them permission to do as they saw fit for the night, Atton didn't feel comfortable leaving the ship without her. Something about her behaviour over the last couple of hours unsettled him. There was nothing overtly strange in her speech and actions, but she exuded an air of nervous energy that had everyone on edge. Perhaps that was why those who had expressed an interest in exploring Nar Shaddaa – himself, Bao-Dur, Mical – still lingered in the communal area when they could have left long ago. Atton played a few hands of pazaak with Bao-Dur, only half concentrating on the task of computing the numbers to twenty, while Mical pored over a datapad, occasionally making small noises of revelation or understanding.

It was after several such noises that Atton shoved aside his cards and turned to glare at the other man. "Do you have to do that?" he demanded. Behind him, Bao-Dur sighed and threw his own cards down. He had learned from experience that once Atton picked a fight with Mical he would rarely let it go easily and, although he would follow the General to the furthest reaches of the galaxy if she asked it of him, it was not his job to bring jealous pilots to heel. He rose from his seat to search for something edible in the vicinity.

"Do what?" asked Mical, glancing up from his datapad.

"Make those _noises _all the time."

"I wasn't aware that I was making any noises."

"Well you are and they're annoying, so cut it out."

"_General._" The respect and surprise in Bao-Dur's voice was enough to make Atton forget his irritation and jerk his head around to find the source of the Zabrak's surprise. It didn't take him long. Sarai stood in the entrance to the communal area, but it wasn't Sarai as any of them had ever seen her. She had discarded her usual garb of battered armour and bulky robes in favour of a gown of pale blue. Atton didn't know what it was made of, but the material looked expensive and accentuated her usually hidden curves. Over the top she wore a light weight white robe and at her throat hung a small gem. Most strikingly of all, her hair, normally tamed with a variety of pins and ties, had been allowed to fall past her shoulders. It had been brushed until it was smooth as the surface of a lake on a calm day, and the pale colours she wore made the flaming red of her hair seem all the brighter. A lump at her hip suggested that she hadn't forgotten her lightsaber.

As they scrutinised her, she crossed her arms defensively across her chest. "What?" she demanded. "Do I have something on my face?"

"No," said Mical quickly.

"But you look..." mumbled Bao-Dur.

"Different," finished Atton.

Sarai scowled at them. "You three really know how to turn a compliment."

All of them rushed to reassure her, resulting in an incoherent clamour. Sarai rolled her eyes and shook her head. "You can tell me how beautiful I look later. I'm running late." Without another word, she turned on her heel and hurried from the ship. Atton was on his feet before he realised it, drifting after her. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to follow her, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to relax without knowing where she was going and who with.

"Where are you going?" asked Mical.

"Cantina," said Atton casually. "She said we had the night off, didn't she?"

He flicked on the ever present stealth field generator as he descended the loading ramp. There were enough shadows in the refugee sector that he probably didn't need to use it, but his motto was 'better safe than sorry' when it came to Jedi and Sarai was no exception. He doubted that she would fly into a murderous rage if she discovered she was being followed, but he was certain that she wouldn't appreciate it. As he watched her, he noticed something strange about the way she moved through the streets. On Dantooine they had talked a little about Nar Shaddaa, and Sarai had given him the impression that she had never visited the Smuggler's Moon before. But now she walked with an assured stride, clearly confident of her destination.

She led him out of the refugee sector and to a large hotel, one of the cleaner establishments in the area. She nodded politely to the guard at the door and Atton slipped inside after her. In the lobby someone rushed forward to take her robe but she refused, presumably wanting to keep her lightsaber hidden. She murmured something to the man who had tried to take her robe, and he pointed her to another door with a nervous smile.

The next room was so crowded that it made using the stealth field generator almost impossible. Atton had experience of using stealth units in the middle of a crowd, and the results usually weren't pretty. Someone would feel an invisible elbow or hip press into them and panic, raising a cry that drew far more attention than was wanted. Deactivating the one he wore now, he slipped into a group of people and made his way over to the bar, always keeping one eye on Sarai. Once he was seated and had a glass of juma in his hand, he studied his surroundings.

The room was divided into three: the bar, a dining area filled with elegantly decorated tables and an area given over entirely to gambling. All were decorated lavishly, filled with groups of finely dressed people drinking the most expensive alcohol the establishment had to offer and occasionally drawing on cigarras. The clientele consisted almost entirely of criminals, mostly high level members of the Exchange. Some were accompanied by men and women who had undoubtedly been rented for an evening's entertainment. Dressed in their best clothing, petty thieves wove their way through the crowd, dipping their hands into pockets to fish out credits or other valuables. This in itself was not surprising: crime thrived on Nar Shaddaa. What was surprising was that there was a Jedi in their midst. Atton couldn't understand why Sarai, who strove to eradicate corruption wherever she found it, would come to a place like this.

From his seat at the bar he watched her make her way to the dining area. Even from a distance he could see that she was nervous by the way she twisted the sleeves of her robe. Something caught her eye and her face relaxed into a grin. Following her line of sight, he saw a man beckoning to her. He was a head taller than Atton and well built, dwarfing Sarai as he swept her into a hug. After a long embrace he released her and they sat at one of the tables.

Atton glowered at the couple, throwing back the remainder of his juma and ordering another. So this was why Sarai had given them the night off, why she had been incapable of standing still on the ship. He had been so worried about Mical that he hadn't stopped to think that he might have other competition. Watching them now, he wished that he could read lips. There was no way that he could hear their voices over the hum of activity in the room. Over the course of the evening they gave signs that they were old friends, perhaps even former lovers. Sarai would spontaneously grab the man's hand and squeeze it, or he would lightly touch her hair and smile. Certainly he watched over her as protectively and faithfully as Vogga's infamous kath hounds, glaring threateningly at the men who approached her.

As he watched, drinking until his head swam, he tried to figure out who he was angrier with. The unnamed dining partner was the obvious target for his fury. Who was he, and why did he have a right to Sarai's affections? Had he risked his life for her as Atton had? Had he worried for her as she charged headlong into a group of enemies, bandaged her wounds when the fight was won? Then there was Sarai herself. She might be a redeeming light in his life but she also cast a dark shadow, albeit unintentionally. Only she could inspire the corrosive bitterness that surfaced every time she laughed or smiled with Mical. More than anyone else, Atton was furious with himself. There were plenty of obliging women on Nar Shaddaa, and yet here he was pining over a supposedly celibate Jedi.

Finally, Sarai and her companion stood to leave. She murmured something in his ear and then quickly kissed his cheek before hurrying to the refresher. The man handed a few credits to a passing waiter and then leaned against his chair, waiting for Sarai to return. It didn't take long for Atton to notice that he was watching something – or _someone_ – intently. A woman – black hair, curvaceous, clinging dress – smiled at him coyly from across the room. The man smiled back, tipping her a wink.

Unreasonably furious that the man's eye should stray when he had Sarai as a companion, Atton slid off his stool with the intention of warning him exactly what would happen should he hurt Sarai. With the room spinning so disconcertingly, it took Atton far longer than it should have done to reach him. He managed to make it across the room without falling once, and attempted to shove the man threateningly. However, he was forced instead to grip his arm to remain upright.

The man looked at him strangely. "Do I know you?" he asked.

"No, but I know you. You – you better watch yourself," Atton slurred.

The man raised his eyebrows in a gesture that seemed very familiar, although Atton couldn't quite place where he knew it from. "Do you have a problem with me?"

"Yeah, I got a problem with you. Leering at that schutta when you're here with Sarai."

His eyes widened. "You know Sarai?"

The man's shock gave Atton some satisfaction. Clearly he was afraid of being found out. "I know her, and I'll tell her what you're _really _like as soon as she gets back."

"Listen, you've got the wrong idea." The man gently pulled his arm from Atton's grasp. The movement unbalanced him and, with nothing to lean on, Atton crashed to the floor. He heard light footsteps hurry towards him and then a cry of mingled alarm and exasperation. "This guy says he knows you, Suki," said the man.

"I know him," replied Sarai, kneeling next to Atton and placing a soft hand on his forehead. "He pilots my ship. Is he alright?"

"For the moment, but I'm betting his head will feel like it's splitting open in the morning."

Sarai's worried face appeared over Atton's, her hair tickling his cheeks. He tried to smile reassuringly at her but found that he didn't have the energy. "Can you help me get him back to the ship?" she addressed the man although her eyes remained fixed on Atton.

"Sure."

The last thing Atton was aware of was two pairs of hands lifting him off the floor, and Sarai muttering that she would never give him another night off again.


	3. Chapter 3

Atton had no idea how he had gotten into bed. The last thing he remembered was standing at a hotel bar. Just remembering the cloying smell of juma and cigarra smoke was enough to start his stomach rolling. Groaning queasily, he forced himself to take steady breaths of the perpetually too cool air of the men's dorm. Once he was certain that he wouldn't vomit, he attempted to piece together the fragments of his memory.

Drinking far too much at the bar, something he hadn't done since first clapping eyes on Kreia and realising that he would always have to be on guard around her. Watching Sarai. Attacking, or attempting to attack, a complete stranger. Why had he done that? The answer came quickly; an image of Sarai kissing the stranger's cheek surfaced.

The door slid open and light flooded the room. Atton yanked the covers over his head, silently cursing as the pounding in his head increased. When the pain abated to a bearable level he realised that the door had been closed again and the light was much softer. Two people were carrying out a heated conversation in hushed voices on the opposite bunk. For a long, confused moment he couldn't place one of the voices, but then he recognised it as belonging to the stranger from the hotel.

" – and an old woman who looks like the worst kind of Sith. What are you doing with these people? And, more to the point, what are you doing with a lightsaber?"

"How did you-?" asked Sarai, confused.

"I saw enough Jedi in the war to recognise a hidden lightsaber when I see one," interrupted the man impatiently.

"I thought you of all people would be happy to see me with one again," she said sadly.

"I _am_, Suki," he said, his voice infinitely more gentle. "You've never seemed right without one, but after…" he trailed off, and Atton imagined him sharing a significant look with Sarai. When he spoke again his voice had dropped to just above a whisper. "Have you told them about what happened?"

"No," said Sarai, her voice quiet but firm.

"Good. Don't. I don't know about the others, but the old woman would use it against you in a heartbeat."

Atton felt an unreasonable stab of annoyance. Even though the man was insulting Kreia, something he would usually wholeheartedly endorse, he insulted the rest of the crew by implication. Atton had been risking his life by Sarai's side ever since Peragus, and he wouldn't have a stranger strolling onto the Ebon Hawk and accusing him of being untrustworthy. It was almost enough to drive him from the bed, but the moment he moved a sickening pain seized his head.

Sarai leaped to their defence. "They're not bad people," she insisted. "They're my friends."

The man let out a sharp bark of laughter that sounded both amused and irritated. "I'm just glad you found Bao again. It's good to know that he's looking after you."

"I can look after myself!" she retorted indignantly.

"Well, when I don't hear from you for _two years _it comforts me to know that you're not alone," the man whispered furiously.

It was easy to imagine the guilt written on Sarai's face. It was an all too familiar sight. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

He grunted in exasperation. "No, don't apologise." His voice was muffled, as if his hands were covering his face. "I shouldn't have snapped like that. I'm sure you had your reasons for staying away, like you probably have your reasons for travelling with this lot. I'm also sure that after you're done tending to the drunk, you will leave this junk heap of a ship with me and explain everything."

"Deal," said Sarai, a smile in her voice. "But lay off the ship; it's been through a lot."

"I can see that," the man snorted. Heavy footsteps clomped across the room, pausing at the door. "I missed you, kid," he said quietly.

"I missed you, too."

The undeniable affection in Sarai's voice turned Atton's stomach as much as the juma. Thankfully the pain was short. Numbness flooded his body, sending him easily to sleep and into a dream.

His sickness had vanished along with the throbbing pain in his head. He was relaxed, off his guard, which was as close to feeling safe as he ever came. Small waves of coolness washed over his skin. It reminded him strongly of the one time he had been immersed in a kolto tank, only this was far more pleasant. The coolness was emanating from a point of soft pressure on his cheek. Reaching up, he grasped a hand.

"Atton?"

His eyes flew open, and he stared up into Sarai's face. Even the soft light couldn't disguise the dark circles under her eyes, nor the way her mouth twisted down into an unhappy frown. It was an improvement on how she had looked when she last appeared in his dreams, but he still wished she looked happier.

He began to bring her hand to his lips but paused. The last time he had touched Sarai in a dream it had ended in her death; he didn't want to witness that again. No, damn it, he thought angrily. I will not let Kreia control me in my sleep, too. He kissed her hand quickly but firmly, smirking to himself at how unusually chaste the gesture was.

When he looked up she was smiling. Feeling more confident, he unfurled her fingers and pressed a kiss into her palm. She laughed softly, happily, and he grinned stupidly back. Despite her newfound smile, the exhaustion in her face remained.

"You look tired," he said.

Her eyebrows shot up, although her smile stayed in place. "You look drunk."

Atton snorted. "You're insulting me in my dreams now?"

Sarai's smile froze and gradually began to vanish. Atton, suddenly fighting heavy eyelids, didn't notice. Closing his eyes, he allowed his head to sink fully back into the pillow, keeping a firm grip on her hand. "Oh," she mumbled. "Right."

"If this is your idea of a nightmare, Kreia, you're losing your touch," he murmured, already half asleep. "The last one was much more terrifying."

Sarai's grip on his hand tightened. "Kreia? Atton, what-?"

But Atton was already asleep.

* * *

When Atton woke the next morning, his first act was to clench his eyes shut even tighter, waiting for a splinter of pain to split his head. It didn't come. Neither did the nausea he had expected. There was pain, certainly; a dull ache that throbbed behind his eyes. But that was nothing compared to his usual hangovers. Tentatively, still waiting for the pain to come, he rolled away from the wall and into a sitting position on the edge of the bed.

And found himself staring into the face of Sarai's date from the night before.

Now Atton wasn't viewing him through the first blinding rush of jealousy, he was able to see certain similarities that should have been glaringly obvious from the start. The man had the same bright red hair and shade of brown eyes as Sarai. They even had the same sprinkling of freckles across their cheeks.

Atton groaned and buried his face in his hands. His first reaction was relief, far stronger than he would like to admit, that he didn't have more competition. Following hard on relief's heels was burning embarrassment.

"You're related to her, aren't you?"

The man grinned widely. "I'm Seth, her brother."

"And I made an ass out of myself for nothing."

"Well, I wouldn't say nothing," said Seth casually. "You entertained at least a dozen people."

"Frack," muttered Atton.

They lapsed into a long silence, during which Atton could feel Seth's eyes boring into the top of his head. He knew he was being studied, weighed up and evaluated in terms of whether he was a good enough companion for Sarai. Let him look, he thought bitterly. Where had he been the many times his sister's life had been in danger recently?

When Atton eventually looked up he saw that his guess had been right, and Seth was studying him intently. More to break the silence than anything else he said, "I thought Jedi weren't supposed to have family."

"Padawans are… discouraged from having any contact with their family. When they took Sarai they warned us that in all likelihood we would never see her again."

"Yet here you are."

"Here I am," Seth agreed. He spread his hands in an almost helpless gesture. "Sometimes, if luck – or the Force, depending on how you look at things – is on your side, Jedi will find their way back to their families."

"Did you go looking for her?"

"No – well, sort of.

"How did you-?"

Seth interrupted him with a shake of his head. "Find her? A story for another time."

His face didn't give away much. Although his expression was neutral it seemed too rigidly controlled, and Atton somehow knew that it was doubtful he would ever hear that particular story. Something from the night before niggled at his memory. He remembered a quiet conversation between Sarai and Seth, an allusion to something in her past, but the exact words refused to come back to him.

Realising that he had been staring silently for too long, Atton said, "You're sticking around then?"

"After seeing the kind of company Sarai's keeping these days, I don't see that I have a choice." Seth's voice was light, but the hard glint in his eyes betrayed real annoyance.

"Is that a shot at me?"

"Actually, I was talking about the 'reformed' Sith assassin she's taken under her wing, not to mention that scowling old woman. You, I haven't made my mind up about yet."

Atton made a noise that was halfway between a snort and a grunt. "Thanks, I think."

Seth grinned. "I'd hold your thanks until I come to a decision." He rose to his feet and made to leave. "I'll give you some privacy to get dressed. I said I'd check out the merchants with Bao-Dur, anyway."

Atton grunted an acknowledgement, rubbing his heavy eyes.

Almost out of the room, Seth paused and called over his shoulder, "If I were you, I'd apologise to Sarai."

Jerking his head up, Atton opened his mouth to tell him to mind his own business. But he was already gone, the door snapping shut smartly behind him. Adding to his annoyance was the knowledge that Seth was right.

He took his time dressing. Apologies didn't come easily to him, and he knew that he owed Sarai several. For following her to the hotel, spying on her and then trying to pick a fight with her brother. Realising that apologising for assaulting Seth had he been her lover, as Atton originally thought, would have been a hundred times more difficult cheered him up slightly.

The Ebon Hawk seemed deserted when he finally emerged from the room. Seth was presumably searching the refugee sector for a decent merchant with Bao-Dur. Thankfully there was no sign of either Mical or Visas and, unlikely as the scenario was, it brought a smirk to his face to imagine them ensconced in the cantina together. He wasn't stupid enough to hope that Kreia had absented herself; she hadn't left the ship since Dantooine.

After searching every section of the ship and failing to find Sarai, he accepted the inevitable and headed for the room she shared with Kreia. Almost at the door, he heard voices. Kreia's voice, as usual, bitter and mocking. Sarai's voice calm on the surface, but simmering underneath.

Atton backtracked quickly. He had no compunctions about eavesdropping, even when it came to Sarai. The guilt he felt was almost always outweighed by his desire to hear her unedited thoughts. Kreia was a different matter; only an idiot or someone with a death wish would eavesdrop on her. In all likelihood she would sense the intruder's presence, and then – Well, he didn't know what her punishment would be because thus far he hadn't been stupid enough to spy on her, but he imagined it would make his imprisonment on Peragus seem pleasant in comparison.

So he began a quiet retreat to the cockpit. Before he had taken two steps, however, he heard his name. He jerked around, a defence already on his lips, expecting to face a pair of accusatory eyes. There was no one in sight and the conversation in the women's dorm had not ceased. If anything, it had grown more heated.

Kreia's wrath be damned, if they were talking about him he wanted to know what they were saying. Silently approaching the open door, he caught the end of Kreia's sentence.

"- mere paranoia."

"Kreia," began Sarai, and Atton could hear the barely concealed impatience in her voice. "Something Atton said last night gave me the strong impression that he believes you are meddling with his dreams. I came to you for a simple confirmation or denial, but so far all you have given me is evasion after evasion."

His breath caught in his throat. He couldn't remember talking to Sarai last night, let alone about Kreia, but admittedly his memory was hazy. If he had said something about Kreia's control over him, she might reveal something about his past to Sarai. Heart hammering, he tried to think of something, _anything¸_ to cause a distraction and bring an end to their conversation. His usually quick wits had apparently deserted him. While he desperately tried to think of a plan, he waited in fear for Kreia's response.

When it came, it was full of quiet derision. "How much alcohol had he consumed when he made these claims?"

"You're not answering my que-"

"_I_ have a question for _you._ Why do you…?" Her question trailed off. When she spoke again, there was an odd mixture of disgust and satisfaction in her voice. "Ah. I see."

A wave of almost overpowering fury hit Atton, so strong that it almost brought him to his knees. He had no idea where it came from, nor did he care. All he was aware of was a terrible, murderous anger, and its target was Kreia. He wanted to kill her. It didn't matter that she would probably put him in stasis or worse the moment he stepped into the room, or that Sarai would jump to her defence. He had already taken a step towards the room when, as suddenly as it had arrived, the anger left.

This time he did fall. Suddenly drained of all energy, he sagged against the wall, groping for support. Through his scattered thoughts, one realisation emerged clearly: the anger had not been his.

"Stay out of their heads, Kreia," said Sarai, her voice so devoid of emotion that it was almost dead. "And _never _exploit our bond like that again."

Atton realised just in time that footsteps were heading in his direction. Scrambling upright, he hurried away, uncaring of the almost thunderous disturbance his heavy feet made in the quiet ship. He reached the safety of the medbay in time to see Sarai stride down the corridor. He thought he saw a fleeting shadow cross her face, but before he could look more closely she had turned the corner and exited the ship.


End file.
